


Crown of Stars

by infectedscrew



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, M/M, Someone help Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last place you want to have memories plaguing you is while you are on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crown of Stars

It was night for drinking, or at least Hawke had convinced himself it was. Everyone certainly deserved it, himself in particular.

“Shouldn’t we keep moving?” Anders hissed from the shadows of his hood.

Fenris snorted. “Pretty sure you don’t have room to question anything Hawke suggests,” he pointed. He arched his eyebrow and pointedly took a long drink from his tankard.

“We have been traveling for three months, Blondie,” Hawke answered, specifically using Varric’s old nickname and avoiding Anders’ name entirely. He’d found himself doing so since the night they left Kirkwall.

What a night that had been.

Despite every nerve in Hawke’s body screaming at him, he couldn’t bring himself to take Anders’ life. A spiteful part of him whispered that the mage deserved to live, to answer for his crimes and see what he had done. To kill him was to take the easy way out. He forced Anders to fight at his side to see what happened to mages and Templars when they were pushed to the very limit.

The only comfort was the lack of complaint on Fenris’ side. As much as the elf had complained about Anders’ very presence, come the end of the battle he hadn’t questioned Hawke’s methods nor did he utter a word when Hawke explained that they were going to be fleeing with Anders in tow.

It had been a flimsy decision made with only his selfishness in concern. He didn’t want to lose the family that he had built and he’d be damned if he was going to let Anders disappear in a cloud of smoke.

Three months later and they were all grateful for the company, even if it was unspoken. The familiarity was a comfort the farther they ran from home.

Anders’ teeth clicked together as he closed his mouth.

Fenris silently passed him a large mug of ale.

Since the Chantry, Justice had been disturbingly silent and ale had started to taste sweet again. Anders took the mug and downed half of it at once.

Hawke looked around the tiny tavern that they had found themselves in. The space was cramped but warm and full of people who looked like they knew it as intimately as their own homes. It was free of the merciless rain that pounded outside and the barmaid was quick to bring drinks and food. She was stubborn but she had a smile for anyone she thought that needed it. Already she’d sent Hawke and his road-weary team more than one sympathetic glance.

“Hawke?” Fenris ventured quietly, carefully. He reached one gloved hand to curl around Hawke’s wrist. The infamous armor had been replaced by far more subtle and covering leather. Boots covered the narrow feet and a thick scarf covered the slender throat and chin. Anything to hide those markings.

Silently Hawke mused that he quite missed looking at them. At least the hair was safe, even if it was getting long.

“Mm..?”

Fenris frowned slightly at him. “Will you be all right?” He asked.

Hawke swallowed at the weight of both pairs of eyes on him. He nodded slowly. “Sort of have to be. Don’t have time to sit down and weep.”

Before either of them could utter a word, he tossed the rest of his drink back and stood up from the table. He waved the barmaid over and asked to have a bottle of wine sent to their room. Once she’d agreed he pulled away and headed to the rickety stairs in the back of the tavern. He could feel their eyes boring into the back.

It was so distracting he almost didn’t stop himself from knocking into a young woman. His hand came up to grasp her arm, stopping her from falling; a reflex from years of helping people to their feet.

That was when his world tilted heavily to the left.

The eyes were the first thing he noticed; the same brilliant golden hazel that could be as sharp and dangerous as their namesake’s beak or as gentle and sparkling as a precious stone. They weren’t as round as he remembered but they were softened by crow’s feet and the same flowing black hair that often filled his childhood memories was threaded through with gray. It reminded him of stars, a delicate crown of stars for the queen she had always been to him.

His heart, already so tired from the last few months gave a brief hard thud. He swallowed thickly.

“Ah, sorry, Beth,” he started without realizing. He blinked and shook his head. “I mean, are you all right?”

The younger woman carefully slipped her hand out of her grasp and straightened. “I’m all right,” she said. “Who is Beth?”

All the muscles in his shoulders tightened at once, a thick knot building in between them. He let out a breath.

“Mistook you for someone,” he mumbled. “You are all right though?”

The woman nodded again and gave him a gentle smile. It was so much like how her’s used to be. She bustled off to the child waiting for her by the door.

Hawke chewed the inside of his lip and tried not to picture what her children would have been like. He made a gruff sound and stomped upstairs.

Far behind him Anders and Fenris exchanged glances.

“Should we..?” Anders started.

“I will,” Fenris answered and got to his feet. “Try not to get caught while I’m speaking with him.”

Anders muttered into his tankard and dragged the two unfinished mugs toward himself. He’d rather face the morning with a hangover, he decided.

Fenris made his way to their shared room and gently knocked.

“Garrett?” He called, wary of using his surname in any conversation that wasn’t private.

When silence was his answer, Fenris opened the door and stepped inside.

Hawke was seated at the bed, staring into the empty hearth with eyes unseeing. His great shoulders that had once borne the entire weight of a city were trembling. Large hands clutched a necklace in clammy palms.

The wine that he had ordered lay forgotten on the floor.

Quietly, Fenris closed the door and padded over to him. He joined him on the bed and laid a hand on his forearm.

“Maker, I thought this would get easier,” Hawke breathed out bitterly. “I thought that if I just focused on other things all the, the… shit that happened in the Deep Roads would just go away.”

Fenris didn’t answer. Even several years and deaths later he still didn’t know what words would and wouldn’t work. His grip tightened over Hawke, leather creaking.

“Just… In an instant. Just like Carver, just like Mother.”

Fenris bit his lip, watching Hawke’s blank face carefully. The man was normally so expressive that moments like these tended to be the most terrifying. It was impossible to say how he would react. Merrill had once compared him to a storm and explained that a storm’s most dangerous moment was right before it hit.

Not for the first time in the past few weeks, Fenris desperately wished he was back in Kirkwall where one of their other companions could help.

“Do you think… Do you think Bethany is happy, where ever she is?” Hawke ventured quietly.

Fenris nodded once. “Varric called her Sunshine for a reason,” he voiced slowly.

Hawke gave a sharp, angry chuckle. “That’s true. She always could make anything brighter just by being in the same room. Maker…” He moved one hand to his hair in a painful tight grip.

After a moment’s decision, Fenris stood again. He stepped in front of Hawke and gently forced him to let go of his hair. He stripped off the leather gloves and carded his nimble fingers through the, now tangled, black locks.

“You made your choice in the Deep Roads, one that no one else could have done nearly so well. Bethany does not blame you and she is thriving where she is,” he said.

Hawke’s head dropped forward, resting against Fenris’ stomach. “How do you know?” He asked in a tortured whisper.

“If I remember your sister half as well as I think I do, then I promise that she certainly is. She is your sister,” Fenris answered without pause.

Hawke moved his hands to clutch Fenris’ side. He breathed out slowly and deeply. A single nod shifted his head.

“Do not run from your memories,” Fenris whispered, despite the irony of his words. “We have enough chasing our steps already.”

Hawke’s hands tightened briefly to bruising point. He slowly relaxed and circled his arms around Fenris’ waist. “I’ll see her again. I have to.”

“If we are lucky, we will never have to see a Gray Warden, but if we do, I truly pray that your sister is among them.”

The words soothed Hawke more than he ever thought such a phrase could. He yanked Fenris close and toppled them both to the bed. The overwhelming weight of emotions and exhaustion from so much time traveling sent him easily into the Fade.

Fenris stayed awake far after and was still awake when Anders stumbled into the room around dawn. He offered the former Warden a nod and received one in return.

The road would not be easy but, at the very least, they had something familiar and time to drink, if they needed.


End file.
